He made his way quietly down the dark street, hugging the shadows of the walls. This part of Paris wasn't brightly lit, and it was late at night, so most of the windows were shuttered, as much against the cold air as the darkness. Only a few streaks of light escaped, but they were so faint and few in number that the darkness quickly overpowered them.

Halfway down the street, he stopped and listened. He could vaguely hear an argument from one side of the street, and a baby crying nearby. A dog was whining a few doors down. All the normal city sounds he'd expect to hear. He rubbed his hands together quickly, to warm his fingers.

He turned down a narrow alleyway. The houses here were so close together that if there had been windows, people could have opened their windows, reached out, and shook hands with the people opposite. He started to run, and jumped onto a pile of crates, launching himself at the left wall, planting his left foot on the wall, pushing upwards and towards the right wall. He planted his right foot on the wall and pushed upwards, back to the left wall, using his hands to balance, planting his left foot and his left hand. He pushed and twisted and launched himself at the right wall, grabbing the edge of the roof and pulling himself up.

It had taken a few seconds to literally run up the walls and onto the roof. He paused to listen and to get his breath back. The baby was still crying, the dog was still whining, and the argument was still raging. He scrambled up to the apex of the roof and quickly made his way along it, his feet barely making a sound.

A sudden, powerful gust of wind made him stop and wait, moving his arms around to keep his balance. When the wind died down, he carried on. At the end of the street was a house that rose above the rest. He nimbly climbed up the wall to a small shuttered window, jamming his toes in a crack in the wall, and hanging onto the ledge under the window with one hand. He used his free hand to prise his knife carefully up behind the shutter, searching for the latch. He grinned as he found it, and flicked it over with a deft movement of his wrist, swinging one shutter open wide. There were no signs of alarm from within, so he pulled himself up and perched on the window ledge, listening intently, before slipping inside.

Inside the house was even darker than the street outside, though thankfully warmer. He felt more than saw his was way along the corridor and down the stairs, making as little noise as possible. A particularly noisy creaking floorboard made him stop dead in his tracks, holding his breath, but the house remained silent.

He made it down to the ground floor and paused. His eyes could just make out a table and chairs, and then a door beyond them. He picked his way past them and slid the door latches back, wincing as one of them groaned. He swung the door open, and peered out into the street. It looked deserted. He whistled quietly. Some of the shadows moved, and four dark shapes headed his way. He stepped outside as three of the shapes entered the house. The fourth man paused long enough to slide some coins into his hand, the mans breath hanging like smoke in the air above his head.

"Good job, boy. Quick, quiet and efficient. Come see me and I'll put some more jobs your way. Or I'll come and see you at the stables. Tell Donovan I'll be round with his cut tomorrow." The fourth figure slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

The boy grinned, as he heard a loud crashing noise and some swearing from inside, as one of the men didn't quite manage to avoid the furniture in the darkness, and set off at a run into the heart of the city.